You're A Bad Man
by xFutureDreamingx
Summary: What if Sherlock had sent John a different picture by text whilst he was coming back down to the Cross Keys Pub after investigating his 'morse code message? Spoilers for Series 2!


**You're A Bad Man**

**Summary:** What if Sherlock had sent John a different picture by text whilst he was coming back down to the Cross Keys Pub after investigating his 'morse code message'?

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock, never will, do not claim to own it, but I do enjoy watching it. A _lot_.

**Author's Note:** First of all, this complete fic is dedicated solely to Charlotte, the amazing girl who's birthday it is today. Here on FF, she's called Reincarnatedwitch, just so ya know. :P Happy birthday my love, and I hope you like this! :) Second, yes, this does contain spoilers for the new series, so if you haven't watched it and don't like spoilers, I suggest you do not read. Just as a warnin' to ye! ;D

_**Enjoy!**_

John was walking back down the hill towards the village of Grimpen again, muttering under his breath something about 'people not having any dignity or respect these days, going at it like hormone-fuelled teenagers' when his phone bleeped, signalling a text. He pulled it out of his pocket, scowling when he saw that it was from Sherlock, reading it over -

_'Henry's therapist currently in Cross Keys Pub'._

He debated whether or not to reply, but he thought that not replying to the mad man would just make things worse, so made sure that his reply was as short as possible to convey his anger at him as subtly as possible.

'So?'

Sherlock's reply came back so soon that John didn't even have time to put his phone back into his pocket.

_'Interview her?'_

So why was he making John do it when he was still down there then, and with apparently nothing better to do but plague John with texts? Most likely moping about by himself, if he was still in the state he was when John left him there.

'Why should I?'

John knew that he sounded childish and moody, but he didn't care. Sherlock had been unfair back then – to say that he had no friends, after all they'd been through... Well, it would have been a lie if John had said that it hadn't hurt. His foul mood was interrupted, though, by another text from Sherlock, and he frowned, opening up the message to be informed that there was a picture attached. He waited patiently for it to download as he carried on walking, but stopped dead in his tracks when he opened up the image file, his mouth dropping open as he stared at the picture Sherlock had sent to him. He felt his mouth go dry and his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth as he tried to clear his throat. He was pretty sure that anyone a mile away could see his burning cheeks and notice the slight change in how well his trousers fit him in a certain area on his person. There, on his phone screen, was a photo of Sherlock on John's bed back at their room in the village, in nothing but a sheet which was supposed to be covering him from the waist downwards, but was placed in such a way that it didn't need much imagination to know what was underneath.

Meanwhile, back at the room, Sherlock smirked to himself as he placed his phone down on the side table and rested his arms behind his head. He predicted that he had about an hour before John would be up to 'check on him', after much deliberation and indecision, and of course after interviewing Dr Mortimer, and getting a bit drunk. John would need a drink or two to cope with the mixed feelings that would have flared up inside him after seeing the picture Sherlock had sent him. But for once, Sherlock found that he could wait. The reward at the end of it would be worth the wait.

And he was right. Exactly 56 minutes and 3 seconds later, John stumbled up the stairs to their room, taking a deep, steadying breath before turning the door handle and stepping inside. He took a sweeping glance of the room, even though he knew where Sherlock would be, before letting his eyes settle on Sherlock's slim frame sprawled across his bed. He gulped loudly, shutting the door and taking small, measured steps towards his flatmate – friend, best friend... partner? - before coming to stand beside his bed, looking down at his face, which turned to stare back up at him challengingly. John felt his stomach drop and his face go red again. Sherlock moved his leg slightly so that the sheet around his waist was tugged down an inch or so, and John growled before his lips turned up at the corners in a small smile.

"Oh, you're a bad man..."

It's safe to say that the boys didn't emerge from the room for another few hours. 6 hours and 42 minutes, if you want to be precise. And that was only so that John could order a quick drink to soothe his throat before sneaking back up again.

_**A/N:**_ So did you like the twist I put in there? I sure hope so. :')


End file.
